


Day 148: Coffee and Little Things

by Speary



Series: Down to Agincourt Inspired Fics [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Inspired by Down to Agincourt Series - seperis, M/M, Make out on the couch, coffee feels, dtaSecretSanta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Day 148 Castiel finally has time to consider the importance of coffee and little things. He has time to consider how true it was when Dean told him that a little sugar makes everything sweeter.</p><p>---<br/>This is a fic made for the Down to Agincourt Secret Santa gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 148: Coffee and Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the always awesome, [Deanhugchester](http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/). Also, it is so wonderful that we have the gift that keeps on giving, [ Down to Agincourt, written by Seperis ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/110651/). She is amazing, and I am grateful for her writing everyday.

 

And on Day Thirty-one Castiel fell again; although, at the time he did not know it. There had been much to talk about that day, and not much time to truly think after. He and Dean had discussed too much, from missing livestock to random infatuations manifesting themselves in patrol reports. To say his head was spinning a little from all of it would be apt. Add to that the extra layer of intoxication provided by beer and later Eldritch Horror and thinking of anything with great clarity became impossible.

But eventually he did think about more than the dire subjects that they covered. He thought about the way that this Dean was different. He thought about the myriad ways that he seemed intent on giving him clarity, making him feel as though he mattered beyond the power he could wield in his physical form. This Dean seemed to see in him as something worthy of kindness, and it was strange.

It began with a cup of coffee, but maybe it began before that. Maybe it began when he stood in the cabin across from his counterpart and questioned everything. Maybe it began in the car on the way to Lucifer, Dean looked like he cared and at the same time carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was easier though to boil it all down to that one cup of coffee, and the way that he had bothered with something so simple.

With the passage of time, other things fell into place. Dean was maddening and perhaps insane. It was a beautiful type of insanity though. He sat, now at a small table in their kitchen and stared down at the mug of coffee that steamed up to his face. He breathed in the earthy scent of it and closed his eyes. The aroma was now all tied up in his thoughts with Dean. He had brought Cas the coffee before heading out to talk with Joe. Cas lifted the mug to take a drink, mixing the taste of Dean still on his lips with the coffee, perfectly sweetened and creamy. The kiss that morning had been sweet and just languid enough to get him in the shower for some relief once Dean let him.

Now he sat in the silence of the kitchen with no time to think, yet here he was thinking about how much something so small mattered. He should be thinking about the work that was stretched out in front of him. They would be heading to Ichabod soon, and providing protection for them during their party was not going to be simple. He should be thinking about the people from all of the allied towns that would be swarming into Ichabod. He should be thinking about so many things, but in this singular moment it was all coffee, and the thirty-one days that it took for him to fall in love with Dean Winchester.

Though he hadn’t realized it at the time, it was in that moment, when Dean added that fourth spoonful of sugar with a casual stir that had done it for him. His eyes had been gentle then and so focused. Cas remembered the way that he had felt then, watched and noted. Dean was seeing him, really seeing him. It mattered, being seen as something that deserved such attention.

Dean never looked at him with fear. He never looked at him like he was anything other than worthy. Dean also looked at him like he was memorizing him, cataloging his every move for a purpose. His purpose in doing this seemed to be, of late, that he wanted to provide for him. If he frowned at an item on his dinner plate, Dean would note it. If he concentrated on something in the distance, Dean would follow his gaze and note it. When he casually mentioned the soreness in his back that came from sitting too long in the uncomfortable chair in their living room, he awoke the next morning to find the chair replaced with a much more pleasant seat. Some things Dean did not need to catalog. Some things just spurred action.

He raised the mug to his lips again and breathed in the heady aroma. He took in a mouthful of the coffee and swallowed, setting the mug back down when he finished. The papers spread out in front of him contained the beginnings of maps. He was putting more detail into the route between Chitaqua and Ichabod. From there he would work on the routes that they would take to Alpha and their other allies. He had the tackle box open on the table and reached into it. The pencils were organized by color into the various trays found within.

Cas swapped out the black pencil he had been using for the marking of landmarks for a green pencil. He drew in the road to Chitaqua with that. Green was home, and just letting the pencil travel the distance on the paper made him feel like he had traveled the distance back and forth with a single stroke. They hadn’t left for Ichabod yet, but he was already feeling homesick for this space that felt new all over again.

He had taken some moments each day to move items into the bedroom. Their bedroom. He had claimed space on the dresser and in some of the drawers. He had set aside items in their closet that would be better off elsewhere. He had organized that space to better accommodate Dean’s many weapons and personal effects. He had let his fingers linger on the watch that hung in the space before he had made a decision on that front. He was certain that someone could be found in Ichabod that might know just what to do.

He sipped the coffee again as he thought through his plans. He thought of the way that so much had changed in so little time. Once again he thought of the little things that matter. Of how Dean could just look at him and change his entire path. “Come here,” he had said, and Cas didn’t even think about it; he just moved to him, falling into the space that was his and would always be his.

The door to the cabin slipped open and in walked Dean. He was wearing at least five layers of shirts that could easily be removed in under ten minutes if they just put their minds to it. The topmost sweater was an almond colored thick knit piece that had overly large brown buttons on the front.

Cas tracked his movements from the door to the table. Dean leaned against the wall and looked down at Cas’ work. “You’ve been busy.” Dean reached down and took Cas’ mug, drinking down a gulp, then he returned it.

“Only a little.” Cas looked up at him, setting the pencil back into the tackle box as he did so. Dean pulled over a seat and leaned in close to him as he pulled over the small map.

“So you’re using green for this road now?” To be fair, he hadn’t used green for the road home before. It just struck him as appropriate now. Green was life, and fresh spring grasses. Green looked down on him with affection and the promise of a future. Green was home practically calling out to him. _Of course the road was green. There would be no other color for it ever again._ Then he looked from the map back to Dean, the sunlight giving him a golden glow at their kitchen table. _Maybe yellow should be home._

“It seemed apt.” Cas moved the map back to him, but before he finished the move, Dean settled a hand over his own and held it.

“Are you okay?” His thumb moved back and forth on a lazy track over Cas’ knuckles.

Dean squeezed his hand a little and Cas answered, “I am.” And there it was again, Dean noting him. Cas let his lip curl up into a smile. Dean leaned down and kissed him softly like he thought that gentleness was desired in this moment.

It took thirty-one days for him to fall in love with Dean Winchester. It took one cup of coffee for him to feel like he mattered to someone more than a little. It took only a few months more for them to figure each other out enough that space didn’t need to exist between them.

Cas got up and pulled Dean closer. He ran his hands up under Dean’s sweater. He moved them both with some efficiency to the living room. The kitchen had no convenient spaces for them to easily share. He pulled Dean down to the couch and Dean made sure to keep moving him down onto his back. Dean stretched over him, covered him in his warmth. His mouth dragged down his jawline to his neck.

Cas pushed Dean up a little and pulled off Dean’s sweater. He set it carefully on the table next to the couch. Dean looked down at him and laughed at the deliberateness of the action. “No one to hit with it this time.”

“Seemed like we shouldn’t risk it.” Cas started pulling Dean back down to him again. The other shirts could wait. He wondered how they had managed to not do this sooner. _How had this not happened after the first cup of coffee?_ He sucked in a deep breath, head nuzzled into the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder where he kissed each divot, each stretch of skin. Dean smelled of soap. His morning shower apparently was still clinging to him a bit.

Cas raked his fingers up under his shirt and loved the feel of Dean’s skin under his hands. Dean did not seem apprehensive in this moment. His body was responding in all of the particular ways that Cas’ was. He moved his lips back up to Dean’s and, once there, tasted the coffee that still lingered there. Cas vowed then and there to never let a day begin without the taste of Dean on his own lips. He kissed Dean into a memory that he was clinging to fully in his waking life.

Dean rocked his hips, a promise of what they could be doing. Now Dean was pulling at Cas’ shirts, but with little grace or ease since Cas was laying on his back under Dean. The effort elicited another laugh, the low rumble of it flowing through them both in the kiss.

Dean pulled back to let Cas help him out with the disrobing. Hope was dancing about in his eyes, lust blown and staring down at him. His eyes were home and everything that he could ever want.  He wondered if his eyes looked as hopeful, as wanting. They had so much that they needed to be doing, and yet this little moment, all of these little moments were important too. Cas lived in these little moments, like they were pockets of time made eternal. And in each of those moments was Dean, just Dean, his one thing worthy of such focused devotion.

He reached down to his shirt to swiftly tug it up over his own head, but then there was a knock at the door. Dean flopped back down onto his chest in absolute frustration that Cas shared in its entirety. _This couch is cursed. We are cursed._ Then Dean gave words to their shared frustration. “Shit.” He turned his head to the side and stared hatefully at the door. “If we’re quiet, they’ll think we aren’t here. They’ll go away.” The next volley of knocking was more persistent and was followed by the door opening and their space being invaded.

“Tread lightly, Dean will likely kill you despite the fact that he likes you.” Cas had his head turned to take in the timid approach of Joe at the door.

Dean slipped away and stalked over to the door motioning Joe into the space. “Better be important or yeah.” Cas sat up and waited. His coffee was in the other room, so he went to it. Everything was important, but the little things mattered too. He focused a little on the low rumble of their voices as they talked about the journey to Ichabod.

Cas made it into the kitchen and picked up his mug. He went to the counter and poured a second mug for Joe. He took a sip from his own mug and considered adding a little more coffee to warm it. He didn’t want to ruin the thoughtful mix of cream and sugar though. Dean made this. It was his gift, a little thing, but not so little at all. It mattered in the way that little things often did, the way that one could speak volumes with a glance, the way that one could communicate love with a simple hand on a shoulder. He leaned into the door frame before coming back into the living room, and looked at Dean. He felt the affection that filled him up in this moment. He let the little things swell up big and beautiful and full of promise.

Thirty-one days was such a small amount of time. Thirty-one days was an eternity. Everything after became a pocket of time filled with so much affection that he hardly knew how he had lived without it before. He just knew now that he was glad that he wouldn’t have to live without it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this. If you get bored, you can find me on Tumblr as [Spearywritesstuff](http://spearywritesstuff.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Drop me a comment or a kudos if you liked this. Thanks a bunch.


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